


Jingle Bell Rock

by Astrophilla, sunshinewinchesters



Series: Destiel Christmas Advent Calendar 2015 [6]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: 25 Days of Christmas, 25 Days of Destiel Christmas, Christmas, Christmas Presents, Destiel Advent Calendar 2015, Hurt/Comfort, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-07
Updated: 2015-12-07
Packaged: 2018-05-05 10:27:54
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,663
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5371937
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Astrophilla/pseuds/Astrophilla, https://archiveofourown.org/users/sunshinewinchesters/pseuds/sunshinewinchesters
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Castiel has taken a liking to one of those singing Douglas fir decorations. Dean can't stand it.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Jingle Bell Rock

**Author's Note:**

> Written by Astrophilla  
> Beta'd by sunshinewinchesters
> 
> Type: Canonverse AU, established Castiel/Dean
> 
>  
> 
> **The sixth installation of our Destiel Advent Calendar!**

“Dean, what’s this?” Cas called out to him, and Dean turned away from the fairy lights he was untangling to look. 

The angel stared down at the pile of tatty green plastic in bemusement, as if trying to decipher one of life’s great mysteries. 

“Oh, that?” Dean chuckled, putting down his lights on the floor in front of him and shuffling over, taking the piece of crap from Castiel’s hands. “It’s one of those shitty Douglas firs. Kinda retro, these things were all the rage back in the 90s.”

Dean grinned at Castiel’s furrowed brows, and passed the tree back. “Douglas firs are much larger than this. And naturally occurring coniferous trees, this is made of polyvinyl chloride and copper.”

“Yeah I know, it’s just some dumb decoration,” he shrugged, pressing a kiss to Castiel’s confusion-wrinkled forehead and scooting back over to his lights. “The 90s weren’t a great time for anyone.” 

“What is its purpose?” Castiel asked as he turned it in his hands, tilting his head in childlike intrigue. Dean was filled with fondness as he watched the angel, abandoning the task of untangling the lights altogether and turning back towards him. 

“To be annoying, basically,” he chuckled. “Back in the day, you’d flip a switch on the back of its trunk and every time it detected motion, it’d open its eyes and sing a dumb song. Doubt there’s much chance of it still working now.” 

Castiel hummed, assessing it from all angles like it was something magnificent to behold. “I’d like to have seen that.”

“Pass it here,” Dean said, holding his hand out for it. “I might be able to get it working.” 

Cas passed it over, shifting closer to sit at Dean’s side and watching eagerly as he fished his swiss from his pocket and worked the battery compartment open. There were none inside, which was a good sign, and there weren’t any obvious signs of acid corrosion. He turned to root around inside one of the boxes of lights, he’d definitely seen a couple old Duracells knocking around at the bottom. He stuck out his tongue as he rifled, cheering to himself when his fingers located them. 

“Alright, moment of truth,” he told Cas, who was attentively watching as he fitted the batteries inside and screwed the plastic flap back on. 

He reached to the back of the cheap plastic trunk, flipping the switch. There was a moment of silence, and he frowned, wondering whether the batteries were dead. He put it down on the floor, reaching back into his pocket, and nearly had a heart attack when the tree cracked its eyes open and started to sing Jingle Bell Rock. 

“Jesus Christ,” he breathed, clutching his chest. “There we go, just as much of a creepy bastard as it was in the 90s.” 

Castiel’s eyes lit up like a child’s at, well, Christmas as he watched the mechanical tree dance, and it warmed Dean’s heart. “You like him, huh?”

“I’m not…” Cas trailed off, leaning down to watch the tree more intently. “It has a strange charm for polyvinyl chloride and copper.” 

“If you say so, buddy,” Dean chuckled with a shake of his head, picking up his string of lights once more.

Eventually the Douglas fir got to the end of its song, mouth opening and closing like a weird mechanical goldfish when Dean glanced up at it, and its dancing ground to a halt.

“Will it play again?” Castiel asked, eyes full of hope, and as much as Dean wanted to say enough was enough, because it was pretty damn annoying, there was nothing he could deny those eyes.

“Yeah,” he smiled. “It’s motion sensored I think, as long as it’s switched on it’ll keep going when it detects movement.”

Castiel grinned as he stretched himself out on the carpet, waving at the tree until it started dancing again.

Thus began the worst four days of Dean’s life. By the end of the day, he was sick to death of the damn tree and it’s grainy rendition of Jingle Bell Rock. By the end of the week, he was plotting its demise.

“How the fuck is the crappy old motor in it still going?” he groaned, forehead on the kitchen table as Sam pottered around the stove. The warm scent of cinnamon filled the room, but it did nothing to calm his aggravation. “I found those batteries at the bottom of a box, how are they not out of juice already? I know we have shitty luck as a family, but this takes the fucking cake.”

Sam chuckled, and it only made him angrier. “Aw, leave him alone, Dean. Yeah it’s annoying, but it makes him happy. Simple things, huh?”

“Simple things,” he grumbled. “Simple things my ass. I’m gonna throw Douglas in the damn garbage disposal.” 

“No you’re not,” Sam huffed affectionately. “It’s only a few days till Christmas, then it’ll be back in the basement with the rest of the decorations for another year.” 

“I can’t last another few days,” he snapped, “and a year isn’t long enough. You know he brings it into the bedroom at night? Nineteen years since it rolled off the production line, and the fantastic singing Douglas fir’s motion sensor is still working. Every time I shift in bed that satanic bastard’s blasting Jingle Bell fucking Rock at me, and Cas keeps on sleeping like a log.”

“Was the pun intentional?” Sam teased. 

Dean lifted his head to shoot his brother a malicious glare. “I am being third-wheeled by a fucking Christmas decoration. A creepy one, as well!”

Sam laughed, shaking his head. “Have you talked to him about it?”

“No,” Dean scowled. “Every time I go to tell him to get rid of the damn thing he flashes me the happiest little smile and it’s like a suckerpunch to the gut.”

Sighing in exasperation, Sam switched off the oven timer and pulled his gingerbread men from the middle rack, placing them to cool on the side. “How’s the poor guy meant to know it bothers you if you don’t tell him?”

“Yeah, I guess,” Dean frowned, sitting up. “I’ll talk to him. Yeah.”

It took a good few hours for him to work up the strength to actually do it, but when he walked into the library, serenaded by the croaky old tune he was growing to despise and the creak of old, plastic parts, he was refuelled by desperation. He needed that thing gone before he went insane. 

Dean pinched the bridge of his nose. “Cas?”

The angel looked up from the book he was engrossed in at the desk, lips curling into a small smile. “Yes, Dean?”

“Look, I need to—can we turn Douglas off for a minute?”

Castiel nodded, flicking the switch on the back of the tree. The dancing and singing ground to a halt, and if he didn’t know the angel down to a T, Dean might not have noticed the way his face fell as he watched it. “What is it, Dean?” he asked.

Dean chewed on his lower lip. “You know, it doesn’t matter. How’s the research going?”

Six hours later, Dean returned from a one-man rugaru hunt a few towns over aching, tired, and so damn ready to jump in the shower and curl up in bed with Cas, if, with any luck, the angel was back with Sam from their source-gathering trip upstairs.

His limbs throbbed as he hiked the distance from the garage up to the front door. He could practically feel his pulse in his temples from how hard the rugaru asshole had slammed his head into the wall, but he wasn’t complaining, nope, because he was so close to his bed that he could almost taste it, to peace and quiet and nothing trying to kill him. 

With that beautiful thought in mind, he pulled the strap of his heavy weapons duffle higher up his shoulder and pushed his way into the bunker. 

“Dean,” a familiar voice called as he shut the door behind him, and he turned with a sigh of relief. Cas was home. Everything was okay.

But he’d only got so far as shucking his boots and dumping the bag before Jingle fucking Bell Rock started playing. When he spun to face the angel leaning on the stair’s banister, holding the tree with a smile, he saw red. 

“God fucking damnit, shut the fuck up!” he growled, pushing roughly past him and knocking him with his shoulder as he did. 

Both of them watched with wide eyes as the tree was knocked from Castiel’s grip, over the banister, and fell to the tiled floor below. There was a crunch of plastic on stone, and Dean flinched at the sound, anger draining from him as he hesitantly peered over the edge to survey the damage. 

Bits of the tree’s trunk had scattered across the floor, its fir and eyes a mangled pile below them. He winced, turning to look at Castiel. The devastation on his face made Dean’s heart sink, and he swallowed thickly. 

“Cas, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean—”

“It’s okay,” the angel cut him off stoically. “You disliked it, I shouldn’t have… I should have left it in the box.” 

“No, I—” Dean trailed off, biting his lip.

“I’m sorry, I wasn’t trying to irritate you.” he said, shaking his head turning back to Dean with sad eyes. “How was the hunt? You’re not hurt, are you?” 

Dean shook his head. “Cas…” 

Castiel nodded, surveying him briefly before turning away. “I’ll go clear up the mess.” 

The angel disappeared, and when Dean looked over the banister again, the tree was gone too. 

“Shit,” he ground out. God, he was such an asshole. Grumbling, he padded his way down the stairs and worked his way through the various rooms until he eventually found Cas perched on a chair in their bedroom.

“Fuck, Castiel, I never meant to break it,” Dean frowned as he came to sit beside him, running a hand through his hair. “I know you liked it.”

The angel looked away. “It’s just, well, it’s silly.”

“Naw, not if it meant something to you,” Dean said.

Castiel hummed, staring at his interlocked fingers. “As you know, many of my brothers and sisters came to consider humans as frivolous, wasteful and impious, a scourge on the beauty of the Earth. I never believed that,” he said solemnly, “never. But this,” he said, holding up a broken part he held in his hand, “I’d never have guessed, but it was an unwitting reminder of what I fell for.”

Dean’s brows furrowed in confusion. “The singing Douglas?” 

Castiel breathed out a silent laugh. “Humanity. You have been abandoned by your God, turned on by those created to protect you, your world filled with a terrible evil only few are strong enough to fight,” he said, taking Dean’s bruised arm in his hands without even looking and wiping away the purpling marks with a brush of grace. “There’s so much suffering, so much to weep for. And here you are,” he smiled, “making singing trees to entertain your children.” 

Dean swallowed thickly. “I had no idea.”

Castiel shook his head, turning to press a quick kiss to Dean’s lips. “My apologies, it was foolish and sentimental of me. If you need me, I’ll be helping Sam in the library.” 

“You fuckin’ ass,” he grunted to himself into the silence left by Castiel’s sudden disappearance. He glanced at the pieces of the Douglas fir on the nightstand accusingly, and the eyes stared back. 

Goddamnit. 

Dean was pretty savvy when it came to repair jobs, but the little bastard was pretty smashed up, his motor in a few pieces when he took his screwdriver to it, determined to fix it up. “Fuck,” he ground out, scratching at the back of his neck. He spent the afternoon scouring the web for a replacement, even spare parts, but apparently this close to Christmas, the trees were like gold dust, and he couldn’t find one anywhere.

By the time Sam popped his head around the door of the computer room to ask if he was going to come out to help with dinner, Dean was getting ready to throw in the towel. How the hell was he meant to fix shattered plastic?

“I need to get some air, I’ll go pick something up and bring it back.” 

Sam gave him a tight-lipped smile, and nodded. Dean left quickly, driving the streets between the bunker and the nearest busy town aimlessly, hating himself right down to the core. God, Cas’ sad eyes fucking wrecked him.

He was making his way to the nearest Thai takeout place when the fairy light-illuminated window front of a Goodwill caught his eye, and he nearly swerved off the road with the force of his double take as he saw what sat in the middle of the store’s Christmas display.

He pulled Baby over to the curb, hastily locking the door before heading out into the harsh weather and running for the store.

“Wait!” he called out to the store clerk closing up, getting there just in time to stick his foot in the door she was attempting to shut.

The woman eyed him warily. “Sorry, sir, we’re closed.”

“Please, I’ll be five seconds of your time. _Please_ ,” he begged her, breath racing.

She deliberated for a moment, watching him with furrowed brows, before giving a nod and opening the door.

“Lady, you have saved my life,” he beamed, running to the window and grabbing the box. He peered inside, and his heart jumped at the sight of the perfect little bastard all wrapped up inside. He turned quickly on his heels and threw a twenty down on top of the cash register. “Keep the change,” he called out behind him, tucking the box under his jacket to protect it from the seasonal sleet outside as he ran for his car.

Halle-fucking-lujah. 

The next day, he found himself anxiously shifting on his feet as he watched Castiel inspect the wrapped up box he handed over with bright eyes, tugging gently at the ribbon. Sam had loved his first edition whatever it was Dean had found in a flea market, as expected, but this was the gift he was nervous about.

“Happy Christmas, Cas,” he said, throat dry.

Castiel tore the paper away precisely, blinking down at the time-faded box in surprise. 

“I… I was an ass. About your first tree, I mean. I knew you loved it, and yeah, I didn’t get how important it was to you, but,” he shrugged, lips a sad smile, “I shouldn’t have broken it. And if the little dancing dude reminds you that we’re not all a scourge, then I guess he’s worth having around.”

A soft smile spread across Castiel’s face as he gently opened the box, pulling the Douglas fir from its packaging and surveyed it in his hands. After a moment, where Dean thought he was gonna explode, Castiel put the tree down. 

“Thank you, Dean,” he said thickly, “but I have far, far more than a children’s toy to remind me of what I fell for. If I could ever forget, my memory would be jogged every time you grip your hand tightly in mine as if you’re afraid to let go. The way your smile lights up my universe like a supernova star. The knowledge that the decisions I made, no matter their fall out, meant that I am here with you. That I’m lucky enough to start every morning by watching the spectrum of light reflect off of your eyes.”

Dean chuckled, the sound sticking in his throat. “C’mere, you sappy bastard,” he choked, pulling Castiel into his arms. 

He couldn’t help but grin against the deep, throaty laughter that reverberated against his lips when Castiel’s frantic attempt to return his embrace set off the motion sensor on the Douglas fir.


End file.
